Broken
by PiscesChikk
Summary: Carter and Reese both deal with emotions and unresolved feelings in the aftermath of the events at Rikers in addition to the death of Detective Szymanski. Will they both continue to spiral out of control or will they seek the comfort they can only find in each other?
1. Chapter 1

***The first side of the coin

"Everything okay, Carter?" Fusco's question sounded in her ear, but his words seemed far away and indistinct. She barely heard him as she clutched her coffee mug tightly, lifting it to her lips and draining it.

"What'd you say Fusco?"

"I asked if you were okay. And I can see that you're not. You been walking around like a zombie for the past three weeks. What's going on?"

Everyone was asking her the same question. She was getting used to it.

"_Mom are you okay?_

"_Detective, is something bothering you?_

"_Carter are you alright?"_

When it wasn't Taylor looking at her out of the corner of his eye and walking on eggshells around her, it was Finch commenting on her long silences on the phone whenever he called for information. Now Fusco was beginning to notice how withdrawn she'd become; now _he_ would be questioning her too.

Her answers were always the same.

I'm fine. I'm okay. It's nothing. I'm alright.

But it was a lie she told everyone. It was a lie she was telling herself. It had been almost a month since Rikers. Almost a month since Agent Donnelly was killed. The draining ordeal had impacted her in a way she hadn't been able to describe or make sense of.

She was walking around like a robot, going through the routine of work, home, and bed. Wash, rinse, repeat. The same thing every day over and over. She was simply going through the motions. At night when she lay down she didn't sleep. She didn't rest. She was haunted by images of Donnelly in a body bag, having his face finally covered when the CSU team zipped it up. Even awake she couldn't escape him. She heard his accusing voice everywhere she went.

"_How'd he turn you, Carter?"_

"_I trusted you, Carter."_

"…_wake up, Carter!"_

Just days ago Szymanski was killed. After a small victory of clearing his name of the corruption charges, after successfully proving his innocence he'd been taken away too.

Another good man dead, one of the few on the force she actually trusted. He was clean, upstanding. He had a real promising future ahead of him. Now he was gone, and his killer was still out there. She vowed to do everything she could to find out who did it, but so far there were no leads.

Every homicide she investigated, every lifeless body she leaned over had his face. It was an unending cycle of guilt and heaviness. This cross of responsibility was hers to bear alone it seemed.

She was tired, she was frustrated, and mentally she wondered just how much more she could endure. She wished she could fall apart, that way she wouldn't have to deal with everything that had beaten her down lately. But she didn't have that luxury. She had Taylor to think of. She had a job to do. She had people who were depending on her.

So she sucked it up, carried on.

And now, she was about to lie again.

"I'm fine, Fusco." She got up from her desk to refill her cup of coffee. She took it black these days, no cream, no sugar. She didn't feel she deserved the regular indulgence she enjoyed, just the bitter taste of the hot brew in her mouth. It matched her mood perfectly as of late, dark and grim. She closed her eyes and for a brief moment thought of John, John who had all but disappeared after Rikers.

They'd shared moments of comfort in the past, spending time together when Taylor was brought home. They shared memories of September 11th in her living room, passionate kisses in her kitchen. Once able to find comfort in each other, it seemed that after a situation as explosive as his incarceration and kidnapping by his former partner, a hard wedge had been driven between them. Neither sought the other out. Neither sought the old comfort that came from simply being around each other.

The feelings of close friendship, or the hint of something more had been left unexplored in the never ending flurry of cases, people to protect and murders they'd been successful in preventing. The culmination of those feelings so palpable in the interrogation room at Rikers now lay in tatters on a floor of guilt, confusion and shame.

"_Ever been married?"_

"_No."_

"_Lived with anyone?"_

"_Why? You interested?"_

She wouldn't admit that she needed him now more than ever. Nor would she admit that it was possible that their lack of contact had anything to do with her sleepless nights. That would mean that she needed him more than she realized. It would mean that maybe what was left unexplored was deeper than she imagined and she wasn't quite ready to face that. No, right now, that was not an option.

Whatever this was that she was going through, she'd shake it off on her own.

She pored over files at her desk, the grip on her coffee mug strong. The warmth of the mug against her palm seemed to calm her somewhat and her breathing was steady, even.

Later in the day, she and Fusco were called out to Washington Heights where two fresh bodies greeted them on the pavement. Their lifeless corpses still, silent. Both were African American, dead, shots to the chest. A thousand witnesses, but nobody saw anything. She did the usual, looked around for clues. She bagged evidence as Fusco tried to question a few bystanders. She could hear him drone on in the background asking for assistance, offering his business card. After a while his voice drifted off and she couldn't hear him anymore.

She got up and turned around seeing the crowd who was watching them at first, had dispersed. There were only a scant number of onlookers left. Fusco had disappeared across the street. She searched him out among a sea of people and saw that he was talking to John. Their conversation seemed intense, serious and Fusco's mouth was a grim line.

John looked in her direction at that very moment almost as if he'd sensed she was looking at him. Their eyes locked and held a gaze. She couldn't move, she was rooted to the spot and for a second she was back at Rikers with him. They were seated at the table in the dark, illuminated only by a stark light that shone on his face and hers. Both ignoring the camera that filmed their conversation.

"_Ever been in love?"_

"_Once….Allison West….."_

"Hey Carter!" She turned her head abruptly at the sound of her name. The urgency of the call brought her back to the present. A uniform was calling to her, beckoning for her to come. "The store owner here is willing to give us some more info on what happened. He wants to give a statement."

Carter looked across the street once more. John had suddenly disappeared from sight. Her eyes searched for him, her heart beat faster. She felt panic rising inside of her accompanied by a feeling of inanity for wanting to find him and see him so badly.

"Detective." The uniform was calling for her again, his voice insistent and she walked over to them taking in the nervous look on the store owner's face.

Drive by's in this neighbourhood weren't that common, but they happened just enough to make him apprehensive about giving an actual statement. There were tears in his eyes as he relayed what happened. Apparently he'd known both boys as they frequented his store. They were brothers and Carter found the tale of what happened harrowing.

* * *

"What did John want to talk about?"

The question was innocent enough, she thought as she handed Fusco a cup of black coffee and a pastrami sandwich she got from the food truck a block near the precinct. Lionel accepted both gifts and looked at her over the rim of his reading glasses.

"He asked about the homicide. Wanted to know what happened, the details…." He slowly unwrapped the sandwich and bit into it.

"And what'd you tell him?"

"Well there wasn't much to tell, Carter. We'd just gotten there, so I just told him what we'd gathered by looking at the bodies." He took a drink of his coffee, an agonizingly long drink, she thought. "He did ask about you, though. He wanted to know how you were doing, how were you holding up."

She kept her face impassive, trying not to show that she felt one way or the other about John's concern for her. The last thing she wanted was Fusco asking questions when she didn't feel like providing answers. She moved to go back to her desk, but Fusco wasn't quite done.

"He doesn't look too good, Carter. He looks gaunt; his coat was practically hanging off him. He's got circles under his eyes and he looks like he hasn't shaved or slept in weeks. I asked him if everything was alright, but he brushed me off…kinda like you did. Something's going on. But nobody's talking." He stared pointedly at her.

"You think I know what's going on?"

"Yeah. I think you do. I know you been down about Szymanski, I get that. But before all that, you weren't the same after Rikers. Oh you're still the ball buster I know and love, but something's off. You never told me what happened. I just had to try and piece it together myself."

She stuck her hands in her pockets and hung her head down.

"Most of the time you don't wanna talk, and I don't push. I get it. There are some things you don't wanna share with me. But something happened with the three of you at Rikers. You, Wonderboy and Donnelly. You were in his car when he had the accident. I'm betting Wonderboy was too."

"Fusco…"

"I'm not blind, Carter. I may not always say something, but I notice a lot of things."

"Like what?" She asked.

"Like at the DOD, when we finally caught up with John. I saw what passed between you in that corridor before he went up those stairs. And when he finally came back outside and wasn't dead, I saw the way you two looked at each other."

She went back to her desk and sat down, opening a file, but seeing nothing on the pages.

"Something's eating him alive, Carter. I bet it's the same thing that's been haunting you too."

"Nothing's haunting me, Lionel. I'm just…tired lately. That's all."

"Carter, you're lying to me and you're lying to yourself. You know that's not true."

Fusco thankfully turned his attention back to his sandwich, his commentary on her and John momentarily forgotten.

His description of John had her worried. She didn't like the sound of it, or the idea that he wasn't doing too well. She was concerned.

Not like she needed another person on her mind, her conscience. But she sat in her tub, immersed in hot rose scented water later at home with him on her mind. Why wasn't he eating? Why hadn't he been taking care of himself? What was going through his mind? Was he experiencing the same sense of guilt as she was?

She wished she could go to him. She wished that she could look into his eyes and get if only a brief glimpse into his thoughts. Was he still mentally stuck in Rikers? Did he still feel the weight of that bomb vest or had he left it there at the DOD?

She wondered if she was the only one stuck in limbo, not knowing just how to move forward, but still feeling like she was marching in place.

She hated feeling like this. This wasn't her. She splashed the water in frustration reaching for her washcloth, lathering the soap. She scrubbed at herself, roughly dragging the fabric of the towel against her skin. She tried not to look at the rapidly fading bruises from the night of the accident. The smaller ones on her shoulder and arm were almost entirely gone, but there was one on her left side that stretched from her hip to her mid torso where she landed hard when the SUV finally rolled onto its side. That one had hurt deep for a long time, was sore to the touch. The pain from it had gone two weeks ago, but the yellowish blue tint lingered as a reminder of what happened.

In a dizzy haze she watched footsteps walk toward them, heard the sounds of Donnelly's grunts as he was shot, but her eyes began to close as she heard a voice speaking to John.

"_Hello, lover, miss me?"_

She couldn't hear John's response afterwards. Maybe he was already unconscious; maybe he'd been badly hurt and couldn't move. She heard fumbling, faint, and distant in her ear. She heard what she swore was the voice of Mark Snow nearby telling John's old partner that she was dead.

"_It's just as well. She's no use to us anyway. Neither was she a threat."_

The daily routine of bed had begun. She lay there listening to every sound around her. The cars passing through the street, the neighbour's television next door, her own breath as it escaped her nostrils. She heard everything, even the sound of her heartbeat.

She closed her eyes willing herself to sleep. She lay there quietly and waited.

It would be over soon, she thought. Whatever it was, it would pass. Just a little while longer and things would get back to normal.

She repeated the lies to herself, hoping they were true.


	2. Chapter 2

_***The Flip Side_

Reese thrust his hands into the pockets of his coat. He stood on the sidewalk through Carter's corner opposite her apartment. He watched as the lights in her home were shut off one by one. She'd gone to bed, finally.

His breath turned into a puff of smoke before his face, the temperature having suddenly dropped in the last hour. He hadn't brought his gloves with him and his hands were starting to turn red under the biting chill of the night air. He balled them into fists deep into the soft lining of the coat, but the fists were not just to coerce warmth into them. They were balled up in frustration and anger as well.

He'd been angry ever since Rikers, but at who? He couldn't accurately pinpoint who his ire was directed at. He guessed he was angry most at himself for his carelessness in getting himself caught in the first place. He had arrogantly thought that he would get out of the bank like he always did in a tight situation and come out unscathed. His recent thoughts, feelings of happiness had made him feel invincible in some way. He should have known it was a bad omen. Whenever he felt happiness, joy or any type of contentment something bad always overshadowed it.

He should have known better.

"_I wish this weekend could go on forever….."_

"…_you have to go back to the base…..I won't see you for two weeks, which I hate…"_

First Jessica…now Joss.

He'd teased her about Beecher, the cop she'd been dating, watched her smile, even though he hated the idea of her with another man. Especially after what they'd shared in her kitchen a few months ago. He'd told her he wanted to explore what was growing between them, but as time crept on, those feelings had been buried under a slew of missed opportunities and lost chances. So she'd gone out with Beecher, accepting his dinner invitation and he couldn't blame her. Even after he'd listened in on their date, he'd still been immobilized by something that had held him back from pursuing her, from telling her that this guy was a mistake, from telling her that he still very much wanted her.

"_He messes with you,_ _he'll be hearing from me."_

He said it amusingly enough; his humor disguised his true feelings. He'd love nothing more than to lay into the Narcotics Detective if he hurt Carter, even if he didn't have the right to do it.

The next thing he knew he was being handcuffed and carted off to Rikers. She hadn't given him up, even when he nodded to her and gave her the go ahead. He wouldn't have blamed her if she had. He deserved it. He'd accept the punishment of his actions and get out of the situation on his own.

Finch, then Carter, had shown him that he didn't have to. They'd had a plan. And he waited while they worked, paced in his cell, unable to sleep, feeling suffocated in the box where he was placed. Thinking of the moments he and Carter had shared, moments he'd taken for granted figuring she'd always be there. He thought of the many times she'd come to his rescue, stood by his side, reeled him in, offered an ear. She'd asked him if he was ready to move on and he hadn't the opportunity to answer because they were interrupted by Detective Beecher.

Before she raised the question, it was something he hadn't wanted to think about much, but after their day spent together at her apartment, their breakfast, kissing her, holding her, he saw her in a different light. He realized they'd slowly been heading in the same direction together.

But what was his life anyway? He lived on the opposite side of the law. What could he possibly offer her?

He walked the corridors of the prison, his tiny cell disappearing from memory with each footstep forward and then he finally saw her. She was waiting for him. Waiting for his release with a look of relief in her eyes.

_Careful, Carter,_ he thought then. Anyone who looked at her would think she cared about him. He tried to keep his face blank, aloof, but he knew his eyes showed the comfort her very presence had brought him.

But it was short lived and they'd all been taken back to their boxes. His eyes silently pleaded with hers as they put the cuffs back on his wrists. He saw images flash before his eyes, things he wanted to do. He'd ask her out on a date this time. Or he would take her back to his place and cook for her. They could spend some time together, no more games, no more waiting until the time was right. He'd finally tell her how he felt about her, even if he couldn't form the words to explain it to himself.

Donnelly had watched them like a hawk. He was truly a man on a mission. He knew Carter was under pressure. But she was up to the challenge. He took comfort in her being there, talking to him. Being John Warren allowed him to talk to her as a stranger, so he flirted with her, teased her, told her things about himself that he hadn't found the right time to share before. He loved her smiles, the way she blushed, the way she looked almost like an angel bathed in light against the darkness of the room.

"_Ever been in love?"_

"_What happened?"_

She'd asked him about Jessica. It was a story he'd told her before, but they relived it together and it felt almost like the first time he'd shared it. Except she couldn't take him into her arms this time, and he couldn't feel the bliss of her lips against his. He could only imagine, remember, recall.

They were both exhausted, drained, emotionally and physically and after finally being released he had to see her. He had to be near her. He wanted more than anything to scoop her up in his arms and hold onto her.

He stood beside her inhaling her perfume and felt like he was home. For a few brief moments he was. She stood next to him, her voice soft, gentle and he knew he was right where he wanted to be. For that brief moment, he was happy.

Donnelly's capture of them, then Kara's game…it was another example of happiness in his life being a bad omen.

He'd stayed silent in the car while she talked to Donnelly. Both of them were about to face prosecution and still she championed him to the FBI agent. She called him a good man, defended the work that they did. The words had pricked at his heart and she held tightly onto his hand where it lay on the car seat between them when Donnelly called him a murderer. He knew she didn't believe it, he wished he could silence her; tell her that what Donnelly was saying was right. He didn't deserve her fierce defense of him. She didn't deserve to be handcuffed by his side.

She was good and pure and everything he'd ever wanted to be. She lived her life helping people. It's all he'd ever wanted to do, but he'd spent years taking lives, destroying them, destroying people.

He hadn't deserved the things she'd done to get him out. Now he'd ruined her life and by extension Taylor's as well. He would never forgive himself.

With the bomb deactivated and both Snow and Kara dead, he walked out of the facility with Finch in tow. The expression on her face when she saw that he was alive and well brought tears to his eyes.

She loved him.

There was no denying what he felt in those seconds he looked into her eyes.

He was in love with her.

He vowed to stay away. His plans to talk to her, to be with her, have a life with her, discarded.

He couldn't. He shouldn't. She deserved better. She deserved to find someone who wouldn't complicate her life as he had.

But he couldn't keep his distance. He watched her, all the time. He followed her home, when she took Taylor to school. He watched her at crime scenes, when she was doing her job. He watched her talk with Lionel discussing their cases; he was like a moth drawn to a beautiful bright flame. He was afraid to touch it, but he wanted to with every fiber of his being.

"_Have you been experiencing any feelings of stress?"_

Finch asked him one night. It was an understatement.

Some nights he'd wake up in a cold sweat, shaking, feeling like he'd been held captive. He'd hear Kara's voice in his ears; feel the shot she fired at him in Ordos. Stress was an inadequate word to describe what he was feeling.

His work with Finch hadn't slowed down in the least. In fact the pace was steady, constant and he actually didn't mind. Having something to do, kept his mind off of his ordeal, kept him focused on other things, other people.

He didn't want to think about what was ailing him. He didn't want to dwell on what was really wrong and what was really missing from his life.

He couldn't eat. Food held no taste for him. He had headaches, heard voices when no one was there. He'd experienced flashbacks to being in the cell at Rikers, could feel the blows to his head, his neck and back. He oftentimes felt like he was back in the yard while the Aryan brotherhood took turns on him.

"Mr. Reese, I think you should take a few days off." He stared at Finch as he uttered the words this very morning. They'd just wrapped up their latest case with a young medical student.

"We don't have any numbers today?"

"No. We don't. But even if we did, I hardly think you're in the right frame of mind to deal with one, Mr. Reese."

"What are you getting at, Harold?"

"Have you taken a look at yourself, John? You're not eating….I can only deduce you're not sleeping either. You need to deal with whatever it is that's…..haunting you."

"I'm perfectly fine, Finch."

"If you honestly believe that you are….then you are even worse off than I thought. Go home, John. Please. Get some rest."

He hadn't gone home. In fact he'd resumed his stalking of Detective Carter. He followed her to the scene of a double homicide and blended in with the crowd, being careful not to let her see him.

She looked tiny, frail, and delicate as she walked over looking at the bodies. As she bent over to reach for something with her gloved hand, a tendril of hair fell over her brow. He wished for nothing more than to reach out and put it behind her ears. His chest grew heavy at the thought of touching her again. Lionel glimpsed him as he talked with the crowd behind her and Reese watched him crossing the street.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Just checking in, Fusco. What's going on?"

He halfway listened to Lionel's description of what they found. He wasn't really interested as he shared the awful details. He knew he should leave; he didn't want her to know that he was there, but a part of him wanted her to see him, to look into his eyes. He could feel her staring at him somehow and looked up, locking eyes with hers. He wasn't quite prepared for the feeling that overcame him. He couldn't look away; he was lost in her gaze, lost in that moment.

He wanted to touch her and involuntarily felt his hand lift from his side.

"Hey, you don't look so good. Is everything alright with you?"

Lionel was still there. He'd almost forgotten him. "Thanks for your concern Lionel, but I'm fine."

"No you're not. You look like the walking dead. You should take better care of yourself. When's the last time you had a good meal, or better yet some sleep?"

"Are you quite done, Detective?" He watched as Lionel shook his head. "How's Carter doing?"

"Not too good. She's trying her best to hide it, but….after Rikers and now Szymanski's death….she's having a pretty hard time."

Reese's ragged breath, his closed eyes all relayed the sadness and regret that he felt at the thought of her pain.

"Thank you, Detective."

He left the scene, disappeared and found himself at home sitting at the foot of his bed with his head cradled in his own hands. Tears rolled down his cheeks, dripping onto the floor in front of him.

He needed her. Needed to feel her beside him. Needed her to touch him.

He'd stayed away from her for so long. He hadn't the slightest idea what he would, _could_ say to her.

He got up, stripped himself of his clothes and walked into the bathroom. He took a much needed shower, letting the hot water run over him. He watched as the combination of dirt and foam of his medicinal soap circled the drain then disappeared. He washed his hair, closing his eyes as the shampoo cleansed his scalp.

With a large towel wrapped around his waist he stood in front of the medicine cabinet, and wiped the fog from the mirror. He stared at himself closely. His eyes raked over his face, taking in the overgrown stubble, the dark circles under his eyes. His cheekbones, naturally high, were pronounced more than ever.

Finch had been right. So had Fusco. He had lost himself for a while. He applied some shaving cream to his face, gliding the razor over his chin and rid himself of the unkempt looking stubble. He slid into a pair of boxer briefs and threw a dark t-shirt on heading for the kitchen. He decided on a cold cut sandwich, it would be quick and easy. He opened the fridge taking out deli sliced ham, turkey, whole wheat bread, Dijon mustard and some lettuce and tomatoes. Although it tasted like paper in his mouth he forced it down along with some orange juice. After clearing away the used dish and utensils he padded over to his bed intending to take a long sleep.

That was his intent, but his slumber was brief, restless and he woke but a short time later feeling much as he did when he first lay down.

He ran an impatient hand through his hair, threw on a suit and his coat and left the apartment. Without intending to he wound up here, outside Carter's apartment, wondering what she was doing, how she was feeling.

Taylor wasn't home tonight. Two days ago she'd allowed him to go out of town with a friend of his and their family. She would be alone.

He stared up at her front door as the last light was shut off, feeling an almost magnetic pull in her direction. He felt it every time he came here and stood at this spot.

"Joss…" He practically breathed her name; the heaviness on his heart was desperate to be healed.


	3. Chapter 3

****Heads or Tails

"_There's not a woman alive who can fix you, John."_

Why were those words echoing in his ears right now? He was second guessing his resolve, wondering if he was making the right choice.

At the time Zoe had said those words to him he had believed them. Jessica was long gone and she'd taken the last good part of him with her. No woman could ever take her place; no woman could ever regenerate the part of his heart that was dead. No woman would ever want who he'd become.

"_Do you need some help?"_

That one question had changed his life forever. He always came back to it when things got hard. Her words, her demeanor, her capacity to love, everything about Joss had slowly gathered all the scattered pieces of his heart and patched them back together.

Zoe had been wrong.

Without knowing it, without knowing he'd even wanted it, Joss had become a permanent fixture in his life and over time, his heart as well.

He crossed the street, his shoes hitting the pavement quietly. He rang the doorbell thinking he'd never been more nervous in his entire life.

* * *

It hadn't been more than fifteen minutes that Carter had been in bed that she'd managed to slip into a reluctant doze. It was interrupted though, by what she swore was the sound of someone ringing her doorbell. Taylor was out of town and she wasn't expecting anyone, she couldn't fathom just who it could be.

She thought she imagined it for a while as a silence followed, but she ended up throwing the covers off her and slipping her bedroom slippers on to see who it was when she heard the sound again. She cut the light on in the living room and looked through the peep hole, taken aback at who it was. She slowly opened the door.

John looked down at her nervously almost as if he was expecting to be turned away. He looked nervous, desperate almost and he didn't speak. Neither did she as she stepped aside and motioned for him to come in. She closed the door behind him, locking it and stared at him for a while. He regarded her in kind, his eyes taking in the full sight of her. Wearing only pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt, she felt suddenly naked and vulnerable under his scrutiny. It had been some time since they'd been this close to each other. Once before she'd melted in his arms, now the small distance between them seemed like the expanse of an ocean.

He looked just as Fusco had said. He looked tired, worn out, heavy. He looked like he had seen much better days than this. There were circles under his eyes; he probably slept as much as she had in the last few weeks. He looked like he desperately needed taking care of.

She took in a deep breath, wondering what had brought him here, but at the same time glad that he was. How was it that she had been waiting for him and hadn't known that she was? Why were tears stinging her eyes at the mere presence of him?

"How are you, Joss?" He finally spoke, his voice unsteady and he swallowed hard.

"Take a look at me, John. You tell me." She answered and he pursed his lips together, nodding. "You don't look too good yourself."

"You're the third person today who's told me how great I've been looking lately." The laugh that followed didn't quite reach his eyes.

She kissed her teeth, regretting the callous remark. He was evidently hurting just as she was. It probably took a lot for him to come over tonight.

"I'm sorry." She said softly.

"No, Joss. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for…." He struggled to get the words out and the tears that hovered on his bottom lid were in danger of falling. Whatever else he wanted to say remained stuck in his throat.

There was so much she wanted to say to him, to reassure him. There were so many words she wanted to hear.

"…I'm sorry I left you all alone."

She hadn't been aware she was holding her breath until he'd said the words.

"…_..whether you like me or not, Joss….you're not alone."_

She'd been flat on her back when he'd made that promise. She'd almost died and would have if it hadn't been for him.

He seemed to be asking her forgiveness somehow. He needed something from her…. assurance, absolution.

He moved ever so slightly, he moved and he was closer. He held his hand out and took hers hesitantly while looking at her.

She let out a dry sob as he held her hand, expelling the breath that had been so tightly wound up in her chest.

He came closer still, until he was right in front of her.

* * *

He was relieved she had let him in. Grateful that she hadn't told him to get lost. He was expecting her rejection, he was expecting to be turned away, but she'd done the opposite.

He looked at her in her nightclothes, dwarfed next to his height, her hair on her shoulders and she never looked more beautiful. He could see she was troubled, he could see she wasn't herself. But even though he could feel the tension in the air, he could still see her concern for him behind her eyes.

Her hand was in his, he could feel the fabric of her outfit brush against his coat. He could smell her soap; he could feel her breath against the front of his shirt. She wouldn't look at him; instead she was staring at his chest.

She squeezed his hand and he heard another dry sob escape her throat. He took her palm and rested it against the side of his face closing his eyes at the soft touch. It was what he had wanted for so long, what he'd been craving and what he'd been afraid to get attached to.

She moved and she leaned on him, needing his support it seemed. He flung his hands around her finally, pulling her tightly against him. He felt her arms go around his waist and as she squeezed him, he could feel her chest rise and fall as she whispered his name over and over.

He rubbed her back, caressed her face, ran his hands over her hair, needing to touch her everywhere, needing to feel her close.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered again. "I'm so sorry, Joss."

Her hands were fisted into the fabric of his coat as she held onto him, not wanting to let go and they stood there holding each other for what seemed like hours.

"Where've you been John?" She spoke finally, breaking the heavy silence.

"I don't know, Joss, I was…..hiding….I was running away….."

"From me?" She asked, looking up at him.

"From you, from myself. I couldn't understand why you did what you did. I couldn't wrap my head around it."

"I had to."

"Finch told me, about the DNA results, my fingerprints…you being attacked by one of Chapel's men. I couldn't…."

"I had to." She insisted and he rested his hands on her shoulders.

"Why?" He whispered. "Why, Joss? You risked so much for me."

"You know why, John." Her head was buried in his chest, her voice muffled. He cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. He was crying now, they both were and the look in her eyes was the same one she'd given him when he walked out of the DOD facility. He shook his head.

"No….I don't deserve that….you shouldn't….."

"John I don't know what either of us deserves right now. But I…I can't sleep…I feel… lost. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. Not since…..."

He nodded his head.

"I keep seeing Donnelly…everywhere I go. I feel like he's dead because of _me_."

"Don't." he bent his forehead to hers. "It wasn't your fault."

"I feel like it is. I feel like…..I can't forgive myself."

They were the same he thought, as she stood weeping into his chest. They were the same. They were carrying around identical burdens, for different people, past offences, but the same burden nonetheless.

He sought to soothe her, sought to ease some of her affliction as best as he could. He told her she was a good cop, a good person. He assured her there was nothing she could have done to save Donnelly. He told her that the blame lay with him, rested fully on his shoulders and that she had nothing to forgive herself for.

After a while her tears subsided and he wiped at her cheeks, drying them.

"I missed you so much." She said as fresh tears started to fall from her eyes. His hand slid around her neck and he pulled her close again, holding her.

"I missed you too, Joss." When he looked at her again, she managed a smile. "I missed you too."

She took his hand and led him into her bedroom. Silently he followed and kept still while she helped him out of his coat and jacket and unbuttoned his shirt for him. He took off his shoes and pants and he was left in his underwear. She took off her bedroom slippers and the two of them lay in bed together, her back to his chest with his arms clasped around her.

"I was worried about you, after Kara took me. I wondered how you were doing, if you were alright."

"I was worried about _you_. I wasn't the one with a bomb strapped to my chest, remember."

"Still…I didn't know if you were in a hospital somewhere or if you'd died. It didn't matter what happened to me."

"Yes it _did_ matter. To all of us. We'd been trying to find you all day. Finch was working like a fiend."

"And you finally did. You came charging up those stairs and through that door…."

"And you insisted you wanted to die alone." Her voice cracked as she said the last two words.

"I didn't. I just didn't want you hurt, not after everything I'd already put you through." She sighed, and he bent down to bury his face in the back of her neck. "You'd been through enough; you still had Taylor to live for. I was glad to see you were safe, I would have died happy knowing that at least you'd be okay."

"I couldn't be okay without you, John." The impact of her words hit him, hard. "I think it's time that both of us admit just…how much we need each other. Neither of us expected it. We still don't know exactly how we're supposed to deal with it, but we can at least acknowledge that it's there. It has been for a while. It just got stronger after Rikers."

"Everyone I care about….ends up getting hurt. When I think of what happened….you would have lost your career if Donnelly _had_ survived, your freedom, your son. You almost lost your life."

"But I didn't. And neither did you. You're in my bed. I'm in your arms. I think we've moved past worrying about who's going to be hurt."

"Haven't we?" She turned round in his arms to face him when he didn't respond.

"I guess we have."

* * *

There was no more time for guessing. She'd seen and so had he that time was short. Things could change in a matter of seconds for them. She needed more than just guessing.

"What do you want, John?" She moved out of his embrace and sat up in bed next to him. "Really? We can lay here, go to sleep and tomorrow things can go back to the way they were. We'd know that we both care about each other, maybe even…..feel something deeper for each other. … "

"When I was coming out of Rikers the only thing I wanted to do was see you, be near you. But I'm afraid, I'm afraid you'll be hurt because of me."

She nodded in the dark, understanding his fears perfectly. She'd felt helpless as Lionel pulled her away and she watched him walked up the stairs alone. She wanted to go after him. She didn't want him to go up there alone. She wanted to scream, she wanted to scream her lungs out, but she couldn't.

"I don't want to lose you, John. I almost did on that rooftop."

"You won't."

He pulled her down toward him and kissed her. It had been so long since she'd felt his lips on hers and she missed the intimacy they'd shared in the past. His mouth opened under hers and he slid his tongue out coaxing her lips open, teasing her tongue, tasting her mouth. He touched her face as he kissed her throat, the hollow of her cheeks, then her lips again.

They held each other again in silence and she lay against his chest closing her eyes.

"Are you gonna be here in the morning?" She didn't want to think of him slipping out of bed without telling her. They still had a long way to go, but she felt as if they'd at least made a step in the right direction.

"I will, Joss. Yes."


End file.
